March 15th, 2007 - An Attempt to Understand


Archie Kennedy had never been one to mourn. Death had always been just a fact of life, and therefore just another piece that needed to be put into place. He had learned at a very young age that everyone dies, and even then, it hadn't been a particularly traumatic experience for him. He had seen war and folly take lives, but he had never seen someone take their own.

There was a strange sort of numbness to him, as he stood in the mud at the docks and stared down at the Browning HP. He hadn't seen how it had been done, but he knew that there was no foul play. And, he knew, to some extent, that it must have been a relief in the last moments.

As he bent down and pulled the Browning out of the mud, he looked out over the water and scanned the horizon. He wasn't looking for anything, really, just staring. If it had been anyone else, he might have been looking for some sort of understanding, but he didn't need it for Harry.

Life had been far from easy for the both of them, but Kennedy knew that it had always been far tougher on Lowe. While Archie had been able and willing to shut himself off from just about everything, Harry had always been a very realistic person who was strong enough to face things and fix them before they did too much damage. Or, at least, it had always seemed that way.

Things had just started to become clear to Archie in the past several months. For the longest time, he had taken his friendship with Harold for granted. He had taken Harry for granted. But, after so many trials together, he was starting to understand that Harry always appeared much more confident that he actually was. In reality, it was probably the First Mate in him -- never show weakness or it might be used against you.

It was never the big things, either. When the McGraths had tried to burn the Maritime to the ground, there had been an uproar for revenge. When Lowe had been shipwrecked, he worked at survival until he came out on the other side and found his way home. It was never the big things that break a man; it was the small things.

Kennedy brushed some of the mud off of the Browning and started back for the Maritime, idly passing over concepts in his mind. It would be odd for anyone to see the almost detached nature at which he was working things out in his head.

It was the small things.

He had been part of the problem, and he was willing to take his share of the blame. When things were going well, Archie was always the first to get restless. And when things started to go badly, Harry was always the first to step up and offer help. It wasn't that Archie wasn't willing to offer help, or even give it without offering, but usually he was too short-sighted to see that someone needed help. And, sometimes, he was too late.

The weather had gotten cold again, and he was willing to concede to the irony of it.

As cliche as it seemed, it could all be drawn back to the ocean. The weather had been beautiful the past few days. Sunny skies, chirping birds, and the absolute knowledge that Spring was on the way; but, in context, it was the calm before the storm. And, when the wind changed, it took a life. It was no surprise to Archie to see the sea, choppy and restless after taking his best friend. Whether Harry pulled the trigger or not, the sea still became his grave, and in a way it was fitting.

And yet, he felt so numb. It wasn't hard for him to believe that Harry was gone. If nothing else, Harry had made sure that everything was in order, and that was no surprise, either. He was a meticulous person -- everyone was set, right down to his will.

It was going to be difficult to explain. Even more difficult to look people in the eyes and explain it. But, if nothing else, Archie was going to be good to those who were good to him, and when all of that was finished, he'd figure out how to mourn in his own way.

At least, among all of the thoughts, he didn't have to question. And, at least he knew that there was finally relief for his best friend.

March 17th, 2007 - The Ides of March


It was already late in the evening when Kennedy finally managed to get the letters to look like he wanted them to. Several times he was forced to restart because his writing was nearly illegible. In a way, he felt it was almost a physical manifestation of the turmoil that was brewing inside of him, especially when it was considered how meticulous his writing tended to be.

His mother had taught him how to write. In fact, she had practically drilled him until his script was so consistent that he could write several lines without having his eyes open. Archie had never really understood why she had done it, aside from that fact that she figured her sons should be able to write properly.

Life just seemed so... different.

Archie shook his head and placed the envelopes on the bar in front of him. He felt so tired, but he wasn't sure if he'd be able to sleep, even if he could face the second floor of the Maritime. There was always a cot in the back room, but there were a lot of memories there as well.

Standing, he took up the two letters and tucked them away in the inside pocket of his peacoat. At least he had been able to get some of the mud off of it, after Sarah had knocked him down into the mud the day before.

Kennedy walked out the front door to deliver the two letters, allowing his feet to carry him, without thinking so much about where he was going. He really didn't know where to find either of the people who the letters were addressed to, but at least he was making an effort. And, at least he could avoid the second floor of the Maritime for another few hours.

As he walked under a streetlight, he stopped and looked up to see the snow falling. It was almost bitterly cold outside, and between the lack of sleep, the lack of proper winter clothing, and the lack of his best friend, he wasn't sure if he'd ever be warm again. But, the snowfall had an interesting, almost hypnotizing effect on him. He just wanted to stare at the snowflakes and forget everything that had happened in the past forty-eight hours.

Silently, he shook his head and stepped past the lightpost, using it to steady himself for a moment. He was tired, but he need to deliver his letters before it was too late. And then he had to find himself a safe place to sleep -- somewhere where he knew he wouldn't smell home, or think about what was ahead of him.

He straightened himself off and continued walking, once again allowing his mind to wander.

He had been thinking -- thinking about the date. It had been the Ides of March, and in a way, he almost found it ironic. He had thought about it in the morning, and then not again until the sixteenth, but the words he'd read so many times seemed to echo within him:

"The following story, too, is told by many. A certain seer warned Caesar to be on his guard against a great peril on the day of the month of March which the Romans call the Ides; and when the day had come and Caesar was on his way to the senate-house, he greeted the seer with a jest and said: 'Well, the Ides of March are come,' and the seer said to him softly: 'Ay, they are come, but they are not gone.'"

It wasn't how things were supposed to happen. Archie had always been Caesar, and Harry had always been Antony. It had worked out that way so many times when they were just reciting lines, or actually acting out pieces of the play.

And yet, Antony was gone on the Ides of March, and Caesar remained.

Another long, wretched day at the harbor had come and gone. She made coin enough showing some greenhands the ropes (literally), and helping to load or unload the unwieldy, graceless icebreakers as they came in and out of port. Maia hated nearly every minute of it. It was a tantalizing job, so close to the water and yet so far away.

Weary, and with a storm rolling in, Maia trudged back to the modest flat she had recently claimed as her own. The little place was situated in the Marketplace above the bakery called Daily Bread. This held two great benefits, the first being that her home always smelled wonderful and the second being that she never had to go far for a bite to eat.

The little bell made its tinny sound against the wooden door as she pushed it open then those over-long economical strides quickly carried her across to the counter. Maia removed the wide brimmed black hat, a gesture of respect, and offered a cordial grin to the little old woman on her perch. Ralmo and Bertie Hausenfelter had run that place for the better part of forty years. Like a queen on a throne, she presided over her bakery kingdom from her stool behind the counter, a fair and magnanimous ruler, indeed.

"Maia! Come, come. Post arrived for you today."

The once-pirate quirked a brow. She hardly knew a soul these days, and even fewer knew where to find her humble abode. Stranger still that the script on the envelope was most foreign to her pale eyes. She pocketed the letter, eased her expression around to cordial once more, and spoke to her landlady.

"Bertie, love, would you be so kind as to pack up one of those for me?"

- - -

A few moments later, she had gone around the building, up the stairs, and entered her flat with a fresh warm loaf of something terrifically grainy wrapped in paper and tucked under her arm. Maia fussed in her kitchen, assembling a plate which included bread, fruit and cheese. The tea kettle screamed, and as she set the tea to brewing, she settled herself at the table with her very minimal meal and the unexpected letter. Just a few bites in, and she had gotten to the end of the thing.

Huh.

Maia set it aside and finished her meal then had a strong cup of darjeeling tea. The rain began to pour outside, the distant thunder thrummed in her ears. Soon the storm would be over the marketplace. The woman brought that letter before her again, and spent a few more moments regarding each word with care.

Maia thought back to the one and only day she had sat with Harry, and thought on the way he spoke of the Al Na'ir, of Archie. They had spoken of age and traded some wit. It was an exceptionally pleasant conversation, and not a breath of it gave her an inkling that the man was jumping ship. No longer to serve as First Mate? Quite honestly, she found the letter preposterous.

The storm would pass in a day or two, and in fairer weather, Maia resolved that she would most certainly travel to the Maritime Tavern by the Eastern Docks. She had a mind to find out what had happened that had abruptly rendered the very likeable gentleman incapable of coming out to sea. Despite that they had shared but an hour of conversation, she was certain that he loved being out on the blue as much as she did.

Changing Winds - May 26th, 2007


He had been surprised at how much children could learn when they were actually inspired to do so. Before things had taken a turn for the darker side, he had found himself teaching a small class of very enthusiastic children. He had managed to inspire them, partly because he tried his best to be a little bit fun, and partly because he had presented himself just as the man he really was. Archie hadn't made any kind of attempt to hide the stories or the history that led him to be an officer, bartender and friend.

The children had loved the interaction. Kennedy had been the type of teacher who wasn't afraid to answer questions and wasn't afraid to admit when he didn't have an answer. It had been a learning process, and perhaps also a crutch to help him in a difficult time. Of course, he hadn't once realized back then what kind of future lay before him.

With Harry gone, he had to find ways to make himself feel like going on. A lot of help had come from a man who had seen a lot of suffering and never seemed to want to complain; instead, he had offered advice in light of his own obvious issues, and if it hadn't been for his rather sage knowledge, Archie surely wouldn't have made it as far as he had.

He was still working on taking it one day at a time when he found himself in Copper Forge. Although he knew there had been a reason he had gone to that dusty town, when he had finally arrived, he had found a place within himself that told him he might be better off stopping for a little while and thinking, instead of rushing headlong into some kind of depression-driven plan that wouldn't have probably worked anyway. In fact, he had realized that early on, his trip had just been a very convincing excuse to run away from his trouble again. But he went anyway.

Running was nearest to what Archie could claim as a profession. He had been doing it for so long, it felt like it was the natural thing to do -- at some point, it had become so easy that it was almost as unnoticeable as a passing breeze. But he knew he was healing.

One of the biggest steps was realizing that he was actually running and acknowledging the reason. Harry was dead -- his best friend for too few years, and his only connection to a life once lived. In all reality, Harry had been the only person who had experienced the strange events that had brought them to Rhy'Din. He had sailed the oceans of the 1800's, and he had shared the oceans of the 1900's with Kennedy. They had made such a strange journey, and yet they were still able to find a place where they could live a decent life. Looking back, the heartache in the beginning did nothing to rival what he had been feeling for over two months.

So, he picked up another job. At first he had a short-lived stint as a fence mender. But there weren't really enough fences in Copper Forge for it to be considered a full-time job. He considered a job as a bartender, but didn't imagine himself being able to create the same kind of relationships as he was able to find at the Maritime.

And then divine inspiration struck in an unfortunate (but at least far-from-deadly) accident. The obviously overworked but energetic school teacher sprained her ankle on a field trip into a nearby crop of woods, leaving the children without a teacher for at least a week.
Archie took the job simply because he needed the money. There had been great amounts of wealth within the walls of the Maritime, but Archie hadn't taken any with him. Perhaps it had been short-sightedness on his part, but he felt a little bit better when he was able to pay his own way. And, whether he was able to understand it or not, he felt some solace in being able to teach again.

The first week or so had gone smoothly, and when the children's original teacher came back to her class, they agreed that they would share the students. For the first time in the long history of Copper Forge, there were two school teachers and enough students to keep them both busy for a whole day. And, perhaps for a little while, Kennedy was intrigued by the idea that he could be an integral part of a small society growing larger -- a piece of an every day puzzle that did more to help than hinder.

His class was varying in age. His oldest student was eight, and from there he got the younger kids. There had been an obvious boom in child-rearing in the past ten years and he had himself quite a large class. The other teacher, Mrs. Philomena Baker had her hands full with nearly the same amount of children, and from a much wider age range. It worked out well, though; many of the younger children were harder to keep up with for Baker, and Archie easily had the energy to chase them all day.

It took quite a bit of patience and planning to effectively teach so many differing children, but Archie soon found himself slipping into a role that must have been so similar to what his father had done as a university professor. First came the planning (which had become nearly second nature from the short time he had spent with his first class.) After the planning he moved on to many hours of studying the local history of Copper Forge and familiarizing himself with the local mining practices. The younger students would learn basic mathematics and language during the early hours of the morning and then the older students would spend the afternoons being taught the more complex ideals that Archie felt were needed for a smooth transition between his and Mrs. Baker's class.

The middle of the day had been his favorite part. Whether it had been customary or not, Archie had saved the middle of the day for a somewhat optimistic philosophy session. The students were quiet at first, but when given the opportunity to ask nearly anything, they eventually opened up and managed some pretty impressive conversations, considering some of the younger children were barely old enough to know their alphabet.

There had been some joy in the youngest of the children that Kennedy had never expected to find. Some of the answers that he was given were so refreshingly simple that he had to wonder why he hadn't thought of them himself. Once, amidst a too-long conversation about what could be ahead for the future, a little boy answered that there would be rain later in the week, but there was still a good chance that he'd still be able to climb that tree that had been giving him so much trouble.

In a way, Archie was reminded of himself when that little boy had given such a simple answer. At one point, all that he had to worry about was whether or not he would be finding some mischief later in the week.

So much had changed. He felt older, and something inside of him said that it was all right. It was, for once, comforting to see himself in the small mirror over his sink and see the lines that were starting to work their way onto his face. Many of them were brought about from so much laughter and warmth that it was surprising. Looking back, he could have never guessed that he could have gotten past a somewhat haunted and distressed state.

Almost everything had changed, aside from the core of his being. He didn't wear his uniform or miss it -- instead, he had managed to scrape enough money together to buy himself a few fairly decent and comfortable outfits that were just as appropriate for a day in front of the classroom as they were for a day outside, working hard in the summer sun. Aside from keeping his hair neatly tied and at an acceptable length, his skin had gotten almost as tan as it had been when he had been out on the ocean every day, and a good amount of scruff had found its way on to his face. He wasn't even sure if he would be easily recognized anymore, should someone who knew him see him.

It was a good change, though. Different and scary and unpredictable, but something he had come to find comfort in.

And then, one sunny summer day, everything changed. School was let out for the summer, and he was once again without a job. He had managed to save a small amount of money after paying his rent every month and keeping himself fed, but from the looks of things, he probably wouldn't be able to make it until the next school year rolled around. So, he did was any sane person would do, and packed up his things so that he could go to the only place where he knew he would be safe and sheltered. He went home.

The journey didn't seem nearly as long on the way back, and he was able to get a lot of thinking done. He was traveling light, considering how much time he had spent in Copper Forge. His clothes where neatly folded and kept in a bag by themselves. His papers and books, plans and class schedule were kept in another bag along with some very kind and heartfelt goodbyes. Neither he nor the children were certain that he would be coming back for the next school year, so it was much easier to just say goodbye and amend those later than it would have been to hope that he would come back and be disappointed should he not have made it back.

When he finally did return home, he found the Maritime nearly exactly how he had left it. Not many things had been moved, and it was obvious that someone (like Renne) had been keeping up on the dusting and cleaning. Standing outside the front door in the moonlight, everything seemed to change. He had wondered how it would feel to come home after being away again, but it wasn't awkward or close to unbearable. Instead, it was as close to inviting as anything can look in the bright moonlight just days before a full moon.

Carefully, he set his bags down on the damp grass and stared up at the building that had been his home for so many years. Something about the lighting made him think of a ghostly pale apparition, and he crossed his arms for a moment to consider whether the Maritime had the same sort of feelings and emotions as the ocean or the ships he served upon. They had all had a moving, breathing nature to them -- an ability to speak in such a subtle language that only those with the best trained ears could pull out the nuances and correct a problem or reshape a situation based on the primitive but imperative language.

Decidedly, the Maritime had its own voice and its own emotions. It looked as if it was laying near the beach, still warm from the water; a lonely old soul washed up on shore and waiting for someone to come along and love it again. It had looked very similar so many years before when Kennedy had first stumbled upon it. There was a difference, though -- this time, he heard the nuances. Home was right there and it was inviting him to come back no matter how cold and deserted the building may have felt. Somewhere, inside, there was still a warm spot waiting for him, and the next step in his "one day at a time."

- --------- - --

He wasn't sure if it was a step forward or a step backwards, but as long as it was a step, he was willing to try. The important part was to keep moving, because without that movement he wasn't sure if things would ever get easier.

So, for the first time in two months, Archie visited a muddy spot down by the water. He didn't bother thinking about getting wet or dirty, just sat himself down right by that spot that had been the only clue to a moment that had changed his life. Thus far, his life had been rather quiet in the hours that he wasn't working, but for once he actually felt like talking, so he opened up the letter he had written and read it instead of leaving it go to float over the waves.

"I miss you," he read, quietly, "but I wanted to let you know that I'm doing all right. It was tough -- it still is -- but I've managed. To be honest, I didn't think I would make it through without someone there to watch my back." Pausing for a moment, Archie quickly scanned over the words that he could barely read in the low light and decided that he wasn't really reading the words, but repeating them from a long, very repetitive mantra that had been swirling around his mind for a while.

Setting the letter aside, he looked out over the water and continued on with his one-sided conversation. "Don't get me wrong, I did have help. And I was lucky to have it, because I didn't know what to do or where to go. I didn't know how to live. I still don't, but I'm working on it. I found myself a nice little short-term job teaching up to the Forge. It's not glamorous, and sometimes I was certain that I wouldn't have any hair by the end of the day, but it's good. It feels... right. Or, it felt right.

"I didn't want to leave, but I couldn't afford to stay for the summer, and there's always next year." He smiled a bit to himself and looked down at the ground as he picked at the wet grass. "I think you would have been proud of me."

For an entirely selfish reason, he waited for an answer, but knew that there wasn't one coming. He was certain, though, that had Harry been sitting next to him he would have been confirming it for Archie with that eternal optimism he always seemed to maintain for whatever endeavor the younger man would set his mind to.

"I'm sorry I haven't done anything with the Al Na'ir. I was going to take her out and actually try my hand at some merchant runs, but it just seemed like I needed to get away from that part of my life for a while. I just needed to do something different for myself. I'm sure you understand -- probably more than anyone.

"But things are different now, Harry. I'd like to think I'm more reliable than I've ever been, even if it's too little too late. And I'd like to think that even though you're not here to see it, you know that it's true. It just took me a little more time than either of us had. You were right, though. You were always better at being right than I was, so that should be a stroke to your ego. I needed something, and I was the only one who could make myself all right, and now that I've started, I feel a lot better.

"And I hope..." He paused and looked back up at the water, squinting at the light reflecting off of the waves, "I hope that I can feel better for the both of us."

There wasn't much else he could say at the moment, but it seemed like he had gotten out the parts he had wanted to say. It wasn't a goodbye, and it wasn't reservation on his own part; it was another step in what seemed like an endless road to recovery. And, as he sat quietly by that muddy spot near the docks, he knew at least at that moment he wasn't alone. The winds were blowing and whispering some unknown language, and the ocean was breathing in a familiar, comforting way, and for that one moment in the dark, he knew he was doing better for the both of them.

Stepping Up - May 30th, 2007

There were a lot of things that he needed to do, but a large part of the healing process had come down to learning to take life slowly, without sitting back and watching it pass by. He had to admit to himself that for quite a while he had been nothing if not lax towards work and life.

It took him a long time to figure out that life wasn't leave just because he wasn't on the ocean. There were certain things provided that had influenced those thoughts, actually. He hadn't needed to work hard to keep himself properly clothed or fed, especially after the Maritime had gotten itself a rather large customer base. There wasn't a time that he worried about having a roof over his head, and there wasn't a time that he worried about things being done, because for the longest time, someone else had taken care of the Maritime.

In retrospect, he felt very much like an unappreciative fool; spoiled rotten by a lifestyle that was practically handed to him. What really bothered him, though, was the fact that it took so long for him to realize it. When Harry had still been alive, Archie had accused him of some rather serious things, none of which he deserved. If anything, Kennedy should have been more grateful -- he should have seen the way that he was acting and figured it out.

But he didn't, and the only way he could prove himself was to admit to the problems he did have and try his best to fix them.

At one point, he would have never been able to admit there was a problem. So skewed was his view on life and himself that if he wasn't being self-deprecating, he was being flighty and inattentive. For a while, he considered it a quirk, and when that answer no longer fit, he considered it as a pertinent part of his being. After a while, though, he could only convince himself that the reason he felt so useless and troublesome was because it had to be true.

In a way, it was amazing to think that a few short months so many years in his past could have such an effect on who he would become.

Things were changing, though. He wished that he hadn't waited to long to do it, but imagined that as long as he did manage to change, at least one other person would be proud of that, aside from himself. And, for once, it felt good to be able to acknowledge his own achievements without a pall hanging over him. For once, it felt good, and that in of itself was something of a large leap for Archie Kennedy.

As things were going, he knew that life ahead wasn't going to be easy. He was determined not to live his life based on the charity of others, but was willing to rely on any good will that was offered. He wouldn't take a handout, but he was more than willing to work for whatever he needed. He wouldn't use the vast sums of money the Maritime had accrued unless he was using them to fix up the tavern, and at the end of the week he would pay himself for the work that was done and nothing more. To him, this was the next logical step towards recovery, and the least he could do to pay back the kindness that Harry had shown him since day one.

There were other guidelines as well -- things he had written down in a letter to himself. It remained sealed and sitting in front of the picture frame that contained both a picture of his three brothers, as well as a picture of Harry and his older brother George. The letter was merely a reminder and a promise that he was going to try his hardest to keep.

He was going to be better to himself and others.

To Archie, On His Birthday - June 6th, 2007


Harry didn't like sitting still. When he was twenty-eight, and during that first year or so in Rhy'Din, it was impossible for him to slow down -- he always had to be in some sort of motion. Most found it to be either endearing or irritating, but the ultimate truth was, it was just a way of coping.

If he kept moving, if he kept himself busy and didn't slow down, he wouldn't have to actually face everything that happened.

He had always been a man of action, but the hyperactivity wasn't truly native to his personality. So, quite some time after he passed thirty, and things had settled just enough, he went back to being more of what he had been before. He could at least relax from time to time, either to read a book or go fishing.

But he still liked to work, and when he had a project in hand, he didn't stop working until he was satisfied with it. That was how he had managed to completely forget about Archie's thirty-first birthday -- he'd been practically living in the Salvage Yard, working on the Balclutha.

He finished the full-rigger in September and still didn't remember, and it wasn't until Archie decided to spring an impromptu celebration of sorts on him for his own birthday that he did.

It had been both flattering and heartwarming, if only because Harry hadn't even remembered his own birthday except for in passing, and hadn't had any sort of celebration since he was a child and still at home. He certainly didn't expect anyone else to pay attention to the date, given that he didn't himself.

It did make him rather determined not to forgot Kennedy's thirty-second, though.

Harry knew perfectly well that he could and probably would forget, especially if he picked up another project or three before then. Not because he wouldn't try to remember, but just because his usual singular focus didn't waver much.

If there was one thing he was good at, though, it was improvising.

It was too beautiful a day for November; in fact, the warm air and the sunshine made him absurdly happy. Life wasn't perfectly smooth all of the time, but it was good -- he had a fairly normal schedule, got a healthy amount of sleep at night and actually remembered to eat more than once a day (or every few days). He was usually up fairly early in the morning, and over the past couple of mornings, he made good use of his time.

So the package he put into the post was dated to be delivered on the sixth of June, in 2007. Not surprisingly, most of the birthday presents were utterly practical in nature -- socks suitable for summer instead of winter, four navy blue t-shirts, and three new ball-point pens. Harry didn't know where exactly they would be, or what they would be doing on that date, but he figured that this was one way he couldn't possibly forget.

The last gift was decidedly non-practical; a little soft leather-covered book only a bit larger than a pocket Bible. All but the first page was blank.

Archie had been the one always encouraging Harry to write, be it poetry or otherwise. Harry supposed it must have been because Archie's father taught literature, and therefore his son felt the urge to push everyone into putting pen to paper. He had talked all of them into keeping journals at one point, in fact.

And though it had been a couple of years since Harry last wrote anything, he sat down and penned a stanza. It was short and mostly free-verse, but he was happy with it when he was done. And he figured that it was one of the better ways to say 'thank you' that he could give.

In the front cover of the book, he left a folded note... short and to the point:

I'll add to it when I think of more.

Penblwydd hapus, Archie.

-Harold

Away from Inside - June 15th, 2007


The night had been long, and much of his time had been spent by the water. After a somewhat unexpected and very poorly times meeting with a more-than-curious Drow, Archie had just needed to get away and think for a while. In a way, he knew it was considered the same type of running he had done his whole life, but this time he was at least aware he was doing it.

He couldn't stop himself. It felt as if there had been something inside of him that was going to explode if he didn't find a place where he could clear his mind and think things over. On any other day, he would have probably went to the dock. Instead, he found himself a quiet, empty wooded area and sat himself down against a tree.

Kennedy wasn't there long. He didn't need a lot of time to think over what he and Vicfryn had discussed. And, in a way, he was surprised at how composed he managed to be, even if it looked like he might have fallen apart at any moment. It had been a step up from where he had been three months before, and while it didn't feel much like he'd healed at all, he knew that he had.

Of course, that didn't seem to mean a lot when faced with the feeling that all of it could crumble at any time. If he wasn't careful, he was sure that it would.

When he finally decided to return to the Maritime, it was fairly early in the morning. In a way, he was avoiding the ever-curious Drow, simply because he felt he couldn't follow all of the hopefulness that he wanted to. He wanted to believe that Harry was alive somewhere, or that he could be brought back, but he knew better than that. From where he had been standing, there just wasn't a possibility, and for the most part, it had been confirmed by one of the people he considered an "expert" on the situation.

Thankfully, no one was waiting when he finally did come back to the Maritime. He couldn't answer any more questions. He couldn't hope and then remember. He couldn't face the idea that he might have lost all hope. Those weren't things he had bargained for.

Much to his surprise, there was a letter waiting for him. He moved behind the bar and sat on the stool that was always reserved for him. And, in the half-light of sunrise, he sat and read the letter, feeling very much like he was old, broken, and useless.

The letter was from Maia, who had only heard of and never had the chance to meet. He had intended to, but things just didn't fall into place like he had hoped they would. Harry's death had more of an effect on Archie than anyone probably would have imagined. It's hard to lose a friend. Harder so when it's a best friend, and the only person he had that consistently proved to be a positive influence on his life.

It took him a long moment to decide what he was going to say to Maia, but when he finally did, it went down smoothly. Almost as if the words were already there and just needed to be written.


Acting Captain Maia Cyrene d'Thalia
The Brigantine Al Na'ir

I am pleased to hear that the Al Na'ir and her crew are being well taken care of. It is not often that a person successfully, and without much thought of self, finds it within them to step forward and organize a ship and crew so quickly. For that much, I am very thankful.

I could not, in good faith, dream to take away from you what you have worked so hard to achieve; it would be neither fair or advantageous for you or the crew.

Should there come a time that I feel I am able to carry out the role of Captain, I will contact you well before my intentions are to come to fruition. Until then, I trust in your ability as Captain (and would much prefer you adjust your title accordingly.) These men, as well as yourself, deserve to have concrete titles. If not for the culmination of your hard work, then at the very least for the sake of propriety and smoother integration into the trade.

Please keep me abreast of the situation as you deem fit, and I will do my best to stay informed outside of any contact we may have. Until then, know that I wish you and your crew both fair weather and much safety on the often unforgiving seas.

Respectfully,
Archibald Allistaire Kennedy


And when he was finished with the letter, he sealed it up and walked it to the post. Considering how speedy things tended to be delivered in Rhy'Din, he imagined it would arrive long before the Al Na'ir was due to sail.

With that, he felt like he had done something right. And, that was at least something to smooth the feelings that had flared up again.